


a season for all things

by with_the_monsters



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Humour, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/with_the_monsters/pseuds/with_the_monsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan thought that taking some time out after university before getting a job was a really good plan. Becoming a ski instructor was an even better one. He did not, however, reckon with being assigned the Lothbrok children as his job - nor had he any way to cope with their parents, who seemed almost as wild as the kids themselves. As the season and the madness progresses, Athelstan is beginning to wonder whether it might have been less stressful to take up an extreme sport or join the SAS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for Eri (gydas on tumblr), who is entirely responsible for getting me to write it.
> 
> I've only been skiing once and I was shit at it, so my knowledge of how the whole instructor thing works is second-hand. Please forgive any inaccuracies.

Athelstan had signed up as an instructor for a ski season because it just seemed like a really nice relaxing way to spend a few months in between university and entering “the real world”, as he saw it. The walls of Corpus Christi Cambridge had been slightly overbearing, at times, but they had closeted Athelstan and his friends away from the outside world and he was of the opinion that he wasn’t ready to join it yet. A ski season seemed a perfectly sensible choice – he was good at skiing, always had been, and also a patient and good-natured kind of guy. Perfect for the job, really.

Athelstan, unfortunately, had not reckoned with being saddled with Bjorn and Gyda Lothbrok within his first week on the job. He had been rather pleased about it when he first heard – a Danish family, he had been told, and he’d been put forward as their children’s instructor because he spoke their language. A chance to practice Danish and two children who’d only skied a couple of times before. Perfect, in Athelstan’s eyes. They were cute kids, certainly, little Scandinavian faces always blazing with innocence and a bright, fierce intelligence. They were, however, utterly overconfident in their abilities as skiers, and Athelstan was completely convinced he was going to be accompanying one or both of them to the hospital before the end of the month.

To be fair to them, Athelstan could understand why they thought so much of themselves. He had seen their parents out on the slopes, and he had never seen two people court death so elegantly and skilfully. Watching them, you could understand why so many people wanted to be great skiers. They made it look so easy, and so beautiful. No wonder their children were so determined to show off.

Over the course of the three weeks that Athelstan had now been coaching Gyda and Bjorn, he had also learnt that the innocence in their faces was genuine only in Gyda’s. Bjorn was a bull-headed young man, who knew far too much about sex and drinking for a fourteen-year-old, in Athelstan’s opinion. He’d had to tell him off far too many times for swearing and making lewd remarks, much to Bjorn’s disgust, and to be honest the only thing preventing Athelstan from chucking it all in and going home was the fact that Gyda always did exactly as she was told, and gave him quiet sweet little smiles in apology whenever her brother was being particularly moronic.

Athelstan was feeling especially close to murder one particular morning about twenty-nine days into the job. (And, yes, he was counting down the days before the children went home at the end of the season, what of it?) He had been nice enough to take the children on a more difficult slope than usual, since they’d been so obnoxious about wanting to the previous day. Gyda, as she always did, had done exactly as he said, following exactly in his tracks and slowing down whenever he waved a hand at her to warn her that a tricky part was coming up. He had just been reflecting that she was really coming along as a neat little skier, arms tucked in nicely, posture close to perfect; but then he was totally distracted by Bjorn shooting past him at twice the speed he’d told them to go, whooping like a Viking and promptly shooting straight off-piste and managing to stay upright for about ten seconds before disappearing into a snow drift.

Athelstan, praying for patience, slowed down to a crawl and swung carefully off the slope, leaving Gyda with the instruction not to go anywhere at the side of it. He found Bjorn quickly and hauled him upright again, checking him over hastily for any injury. Bjorn pushed him off with an angry grunt and a muffled curse word, and Athelstan breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, counting slowly to ten.

“Bjorn,” he said finally, pushing his goggles up to make sure the boy could see his frown, “I want to help you learn to ski properly. But if you insist on continuing to ignore what I tell you, I’m going to have to take this to your parents.”

“They won’t care,” Bjorn replied confidently, tilting his chin back to add the perfect touch of arrogance to his words, “You’re just an instructor. I’m their _son_.”

Athelstan levelled a thoughtful glare at the child. The truth was, he wasn’t convinced that Bjorn was wrong. Ragnar Lothbrok had a lot of different reputations, but most seemed to agree that he was even more arrogant than his son, and Athelstan couldn’t really see him listening to a lowly ski instructor instead of his own child. That, to be honest, was the main reason Athelstan had still not gone out of his way to say anything about Bjorn’s poor behaviour to his parents. Usually he just dropped the kids back with them at the end of the day, had a brief inconsequential conversation about the weather or the slopes or the day with them, and then left the family to their own devices.

“Right,” he said finally, deciding yet again that maybe he’d give it just another day before he said anything, and with a sigh indicated that Bjorn ought to follow him back to where Gyda was waiting patiently. Bjorn gave her a shove as he went past to vent his embarrassment at having fallen, and Athelstan reached out quickly to steady her. It hadn’t hurt, since both children wore so much padding to keep the cold out, but Athelstan still decided then and there that enough was enough. He was taking this up with Mr and Mrs Lothbrok if they laughed him all the way back to England.

“I’m alright,” Gyda reassured him, giving him a tentative pat on the arm and a shy smile. “It didn’t hurt. He never hurts me.”

Athelstan returned the smile and squeezed her shoulder briefly, then released her and pulled his goggles down.

“Right,” he said again, his voice firm and authoritative now, “We are going to finish this slope _slowly_ and _carefully_. Gyda, will you go in front, please, and Bjorn you behind. Don’t overtake us.”

With that, he extended his hand to Gyda. She took it, and he swung her around on her skis – much to her amusement – and then released her. She set off quite happily, and Athelstan followed with Bjorn close behind. He could practically feel the young man’s glare burning into the back of his coat, but he ignored it determinedly. Bloody child.

* * *

When they reached the bottom of the slope, Athelstan led them both away from the paths of other skiers and quite calmly sat down and began removing his skis. Gyda unquestioningly sat next to him to do the same, but Bjorn folded his arms and scowled.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re done for the day,” Athelstan replied calmly, not looking up at the boy, “I don’t trust you not to put yourself in danger, so I can’t in good faith take you back up the mountain.” Bjorn, at this point, opened his mouth furiously, but Athelstan raised a hand to cut him off. “I’m going to make sure your parents take the two hours left off my wages, so don’t worry, I’m not cheating you. If you want to get your full lesson time, you’re going to have to learn to behave yourself.”

Still quite calmly not looking at Bjorn, Athelstan reached down to help Gyda with a particularly stiff buckle, and then stood up and hoisted his skis onto his shoulder. He now finally directed a glance at Bjorn, who stood with his arms folded, and against his better judgement extended a temporary peace offering.

“If you fancy getting off your skis, we’ll go to the lodge and I’ll buy you both hot chocolate.”

Gyda let out an exclamation of excitement from next to him, and underneath his goggles Bjorn’s eyes widened in dismay. Hot chocolate was like kryptonite to these kids, Athelstan had discovered, and he didn’t mind surrendering the odd few pounds here and there to keep as far on their good side as possible. Athelstan was now quite happy to stand and wait while an internal war raged in Bjorn. On the one hand, his pride really didn’t want to submit to a suggestion from his stupid instructor. But on the other, hot chocolate. Athelstan, trying very hard to hide his grin, calmly sat back down on the bench to wait for a decision.

Finally, Bjorn looked down, and with a deep philosophical sigh bent to get his skis off. Athelstan stood up again and looked down at Gyda, who glanced up and gave him a great conspiratorial grin, possibly the biggest he’d ever got from her. He smiled back and put his arm around her shoulders to lead her off, Bjorn following behind. A few mad skiers sometimes shot down past the lodge, and Athelstan really didn’t want Gyda wandering away from him only to get knocked down. The main difference, he thought as they shouldered their way into the warm building, between his feelings towards the two children was that he didn’t want Bjorn to get hurt mostly because he didn’t want to have to explain it to his parents. He actually wanted to make sure Gyda was alright just for her sake. He knew it should be the same for Bjorn, but he just couldn’t help it. He was such a little shit.

Half an hour later, tucked into a cosy corner of the lodge watching people ski past outside, Athelstan watched Bjorn and Gyda drain the last of their hot chocolate with great, replete satisfaction.

“How was that?” he inquired of them one they had banged their big mugs back down onto the table. Bjorn, in response, only stifled a burp behind one hand, but Gyda gave Athelstan another of those rare brilliant grins and, blushing, replied, “Lovely, thank you, Athelstan.”

Athelstan, concerned by the sudden redness in her cheeks, was convinced she was overheating and in a rather alarmed fashion suggested she her jumper off. She was wearing about twelve, according to Bjorn’s teasing earlier in the day, and it was very warm inside the lodge.

Gyda reddened further and obligingly removed her top layer, emerging pink and ruffled from the top of it. Athelstan gave her a steady smile of encouragement, and then cast around for a topic of conversation.

“So,” he said finally, diving his gaze between the two, “Whereabouts are you staying?”

“Near Haute d’Eleni,” Bjorn ventured, his pronunciation of the French words absolutely atrocious.

“The big chalet,” Gyda agreed, tucking her legs up under herself, “Up on the little hill. It has a Jacuzzi.”

Athelstan, thinking regretfully of his own lodging (which was practically falling down around his and its other occupants’ ears), made a face to convey envy.

“Well, I’m jealous. All I’ve got is a shower, and I have to share that with eight other guys. What else do you have in there?”

Bjorn, mollified by the hot chocolate and eager once again to show off, began reeling off a list of luxuries that would have had Athelstan green in the face with jealousy if he was a more envious sort.

“Playstation, Wii, a big kitchen with all these fancy shiny things, and there’s a TV which hides behind a painting, and a sauna, and we all have double beds, don’t we Gyda, and there’s Sky TV and the walls are so thick we can’t even hear Mum and Dad doing it like we can at home!”

Although he was pretty much used to Bjorn’s lewdness by now, it still took Athelstan by surprise every now and again, and he went quite furiously red at the boy’s last listed bonus of their chalet. This sent both children off into fits of howling laughter, drawing attention from nearby tables, and all Athelstan could do was sit there wondering how he was ever going to look Mr and Mrs Lothbrok in the eye when he complained to them about Bjorn’s poor behaviour.

“Your _face_ ,” Bjorn spluttered, clutching onto his stomach as Gyda pitched against him on the sofa, so creased up with laughter she could barely breathe.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Athelstan replied teasingly, doing his best to regain a bit of dignity, “I’m hilarious, sure. Do you two want cake?”

That distracted them instantly, and so Athelstan hastily waved a waitress over and ordered the children an enormous slice of chocolate fudge cake each. If he was lucky, he could stuff them so full they wouldn’t have the energy to move or tease him.

* * *

Athelstan’s gamble, an hour later, had backfired. Now cruising a huge sugar high, Gyda was playing Temple Run 2 on Athelstan’s phone with her eyes so wide Athelstan was beginning to get a bit worried, and Bjorn was demonstrating handstands in the corner behind the sofa. It had taken all of Athelstan’s persuasion to get him to stop doing them in the middle of the café, so he’d decided against trying to get him to sit down.

“Yeah, Bjorn, that’s brilliant,” he complimented wearily, running a hand through his hair, “Great stuff.”

Desperately hoping that the children’s parents weren’t going to be as late today as they often were, Athelstan was suddenly startled to his feet by a squeal from Gyda next to him, and turned around to find that her father had arrived and snuck up on her.

“Got you,” Ragnar said with a laugh, and Gyda giggled and flung her arms around his neck.

Athelstan found those piercing eyes turned on him next, and it was with the exact same teasing tone that Ragnar had used on his daughter that the man announced, “Got you too.”

Athelstan laughed a trifle nervously and tried to look in control as Bjorn appeared from behind the sofa and crashed forwards over the furniture to his parents.

“Yeah, sorry, I wasn’t expecting it. Have you had a good day’s skiing?”

“Yes, thank you,” the reply came, but from Ragnar’s wife this time. Athelstan glanced towards her as she stepped forward to give her son a hug, and she gave him a big, bold smile. There seemed to be an undertone of suggestiveness to it, and Athelstan swallowed hard and looked back to Ragnar. This family was always playing games – nicely, teasingly, but games all the same – and he was constantly wary around them. His suspicion doubled as Lagertha elbowed her husband in the ribs, and he glanced at her questioningly. A silent exchange passed between them, and Athelstan instinctively took a step back as they turned identical feral grins on him.

“We’ve been wondering, actually, Athelstan,” Ragnar began, sweeping Gyda up over his shoulder to provoke more giggles, “If you would be free to join us for dinner this evening? We have a very nice house and my wife here is a really excellent cook. It would be a great honour. Gyda’s told us _so much_ about you.”

Gyda, over Ragnar’s shoulder, went absolutely silent and then breathed out a scandalised, “ _Papa_!”

The other three members of her family dissolved into helpless laughter, and Athelstan’s eyes flickered helplessly between them. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, but did his best to mask that.

“I, uh,” he started, and then cleared his throat and continued more decisively, “I don’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, no, please, we really want you to come,” Lagertha said breathlessly, just about recovering, “It will be a lot of fun.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” Athelstan continued, watching with ever-mounting confusion as Ragnar deposited Gyda back onto the floor and she hid an astonishingly red face in his side.

“We are,” Ragnar agreed, still laughing as he put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, “We’ll see you at seven thirty. You know where our chalet is?”

“Yes, the children said,” Athelstan responded quickly – he was extremely bewildered by the entire exchange and just really wanted to get away. Ragnar and Lagertha both looked monumentally pleased by this, and after a brief conversation about the day’s skiing, the family piled out of the building and disappeared into light snowfall.

It wasn’t until they had entirely disappeared that Athelstan realised he yet again had failed to say anything about Bjorn’s poor behaviour.

And that Gyda still had his phone.


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> athelstan really doesn't know why he expected dinner with the lothbroks to be anything other than bewildering and exhausting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay second chapter is doneee yay. for the record i know "lothbrok" isn't the technical surname of the family - it was a nickname for ragnar whoops - but it seemed the most sensible thing to use in the end.

There was one advantage to being invited to dinner with the Lothbroks, Athelstan mused, and that was getting into warmth. He had been halfway through his shower two hours earlier when the boiler finally packed in, and had had to wash the rest of the shampoo out of his hair and lather on shower gel while shivering so hard his teeth were clacking together. Finally half-falling out of the shower, he’d emerged into the room he shared with a young French man called Claude to find the guy wrapped up in six jumpers (including one of Athelstan’s) and two blankets.

“Heating’s fucked,” Claude had offered, and Athelstan had given one violent shiver before nodding in agreement.

“Yup,” he replied, and towelled himself off as hastily as possible before diving into his clothes. He had proceeded to spend the next forty minutes sitting on his bed in most of his skiwear as well as his duvet dividing his time between Camus and trying to fix his hair. He had been half-convinced icicles were going to form in it, to be honest.

By the time he left, he was so cold his fingers were completely white, and he’d only just about persuaded his hair to sit flat before he pulled a hat down over it. He presumed he looked okay because as he’d been leaving – still bundled up in his salopettes and thick ski jacket – Victoria who lived down the hall had cornered him and demanded that he head out to the one local club with her and her friends. Victoria, being the leggy, blonde and beautiful sort, had very high standards in terms of the appearance of her friends, so being invited out by her was sort of a seal of approval on any chosen outfit of the day.

Having declined as politely as possible, Athelstan headed out into the cold, and was now half an hour later shivering once more, but this time on the doorstep of the most luscious-looking chalet he’d seen in a long time. The lavishness of just the outside was enough to make him wish he’d phoned and cancelled like he’d been planning to earlier (not that he could have done, anyway, with his phone still being in Gyda’s possession).

After what felt like an age, there was a crash of footsteps behind the door and then it flew open to reveal Bjorn, pink-cheered and damp-haired from a recent shower.

“Hi,” Athelstan said warily after a moment, and Bjorn cracked an enormous grin at him and leaned forward to bunch his fist into the front of Athelstan’s coat and pull him forcefully into the house.

“Come in!” he exclaimed belatedly, releasing his instructor, all earlier sins apparently forgiven. Athelstan hastily divested himself of his outer layers, since they seemed a little inappropriate inside the big warm building, and then pulled off his hat as he followed Bjorn up the stairs.

Ruffling up his hair to make sure it hadn’t set in some weird position under the hat, Athelstan dutifully tracked Bjorn’s steps towards whatever destination the child had in mind. Before too long, they emerged into the sitting room where Bjorn’s parents were curled up against each other on the sofa. They sprang up immediately, great smiles across their faces, and Athelstan couldn’t help returning the smiles shyly. They were so unabashedly excited about everything, it was rather infectious.

“Athelstan!” Ragnar exclaimed in delight, bounding forward to slap him on the shoulder, “Glad you made it!”

“You look half-frozen,” Lagertha commented as she embraced him and dropped a kiss on either of his cheeks, sending Athelstan stuttering and red.

“I, uh, yes, sorry – the boiler’s broken in our lodgings. It’s very cold.”

“No heating?” Lagertha said in utter astonishment as both she and her husband glanced out of the window at the light snowfall outside, clearly suddenly struck with the vision of how unpleasant it would be without working central heating.

“You poor man,” Ragnar added in what looked like equal horror, and Athelstan once again was left unsettled as one of those wordless glances passed between husband and wife. They could tell each other an awful lot without saying anything at all, and Athelstan wasn’t sure whether he was envious of that or just intimidated by it.

“Well, anyway, come,” Ragnar announced finally, clapping an arm around Athelstan’s shoulders, “Dinner is ready. Lagertha has made a delicious stew.”

At Ragnar’s side, Bjorn made a retching noise and said, “ _Stew_ ,” in the most disgusted tone he could manage. This earned him a chuckle from Ragnar and a cuff on the back of his head from his mother, and Athelstan hid a smile from the boy.

It wasn’t until he was sat down at the table that he realised that his favourite member of the family was missing, and so as Lagertha served him some of the stew that Bjorn so resented he inquired, “Isn’t Gyda joining us?”

Lagertha and Ragnar both paused to exchange deeply amused grins, and then Ragnar cleared his throat and replied, “Actually, she’s sulking right now. I’ll go and see if I can persuade her to come out of her room.”

Athelstan watched in silent confusion as Ragnar left the table and disappeared out of the dining room. Bjorn was grinning into his plate and Lagertha was clearly trying to hide her own amusement, finishing dishing out the food with her lips pulled tightly together to conceal her smile.

Before too long, Ragnar appeared pushing a reluctant Gyda in front of him. She stopped in the doorway and took a deep breath, and Athelstan’s bewilderment only mounted as she tilted her chin up just like her brother had earlier and crossed the room in measured strides towards him, as dignified as a little princess.

“Good evening, Athelstan,” she said to him calmly, ignoring her brother’s spluttering, “I’m glad you have come.”

With that, she put his phone down onto the table next to his knife, turned to stick her tongue out at her father, and coolly made her way to her seat on Bjorn’s other side. There was a brief silence as she sat herself down, and then Bjorn let out a bellow of laughter and she gave him a swift thump in the upper arm. It was obviously a firm one because Bjorn clutched at it and went to hit her back.

“Enough!” Lagertha rapped out sharply, and her children subsided as she directed a stern warning glare at them. Athelstan, sitting on the other side of the table, was so thoroughly at a loss that he decided the best thing to do would be to simply start eating and really, really hope somebody changed the subject soon.

* * *

Dinner had passed pleasantly after that, with plenty of light teasing and interesting conversation. Athelstan, in all honesty, was a lot more enchanted with Lagertha and Ragnar than he had thought he would be. For starters, it was nice to have some real adult company rather than that of the immature young men and women he lived with. They were also generally likable people – charming and intelligent but with such wicked senses of humour it didn’t take Athelstan long to work out where Bjorn had inherited it from. Indeed, Gyda’s sweetness was starting to look more and more out of place, and Athelstan found himself wondering at some point how she coped being so quiet in a family of such endless loudness. She had met his eyes at this point and dived her gaze away, blushing furiously. He was beginning to worry that something was severely wrong with her. She was behaving very oddly.

Athelstan, in fact, ended up having such a good time that he barely noticed the time passing. It wasn’t until they were all in the cosy living room having an argument over the game of Monopoly they’d started forty minutes previously (well, Bjorn and Ragnar were arguing about it, and Athelstan and the two women were sitting and watching, trying not to laugh) that Athelstan glanced down at his phone and realised how late it was.

“Goodness,” he exclaimed, rising to his feet, “I’m so sorry, it’s eleven already. I shouldn’t have kept you so late, how rude of me –”

Ragnar and Bjorn looked up, instantly distracted from their bickering, and Gyda rose to her feet imploringly.

“No, don’t go! It’s still early, isn’t it, Mama?”

She turned to Lagertha now, a pleading expression on her face, and Lagertha gave her a soft smile and reached out to tousle her hair.

“If you do not have anywhere to be, Athelstan, we would love you to stay longer,” she announced after a moment, looking up at him and giving him that same easy smile, “I think the children would love the excuse to stay up.”

Athelstan hesitated now. He did feel like he was intruding and was desperate not to overstay his welcome, but at the same time the prospect of returning to his freezing room and small, hard bed was not a seductive one when the alternative was central heating and deep squishy sofas.

“Well, I suppose…” he began, but was not allowed to get much further before Ragnar butted in.

“He can’t go anywhere anyway,” he decreed through a yawn, stretching with a lion’s sinewy indolence, and then gestured to the window as he explained, “It’s a whiteout. You’ll get lost.”

Athelstan turned to look and, sure enough, saw that the snow was coming down so thickly it was nearly impossible to see through it to the dark night sky. His heart sank. He was going to have to go out into that, undoubtedly, before too long. He’d be utterly frozen and soaked, and almost certainly get lost, and to cap it all if he did make it home without dying in the wilderness he wouldn’t even be able to have a hot shower to warm himself up again.

Utterly miserable now, he turned back to the family, and found them staring at him thoughtfully. Well, all of them but Bjorn, who was using the opportunity of their distractedness to steal a bunch of £500,000 notes out of the monopoly box. Snorting in amusement, Athelstan broke the silence that had settled, and Ragnar turned to his son and gave a great shout.

“You cheat!”

Bjorn jumped like a rabbit startled, and then looked desperately between the fake money clutched in his hands and the teasingly threatening expression on his father’s face. Giving a helpless yelp, he fled the room, and Ragnar went thundering after him, laughing all the while.

Back in the sitting room, Gyda heaved a great sigh and, eyes upturned, muttered, “ _Every_ time.”

* * *

By one o’ clock in the morning, the blizzard was showing no sign of abating and Bjorn and Gyda had fallen asleep in front of the film Lagertha had put on. Athelstan was feeling sleepy himself, lulled into languor by the warmth and the day’s exertions on the slopes. He was sat on the sofa between the two children, having to concentrate quite hard on the film to avoid falling asleep himself. Gyda had gradually drifted downwards over the course of the last forty minutes, and was now absolutely fast asleep with her head on Athelstan’s thigh, which meant he couldn’t have moved even if he’d wanted to.

Bjorn, on his other side, was sleeping with his head back, mouth open, snoring gently. Athelstan wasn’t exactly sure why, but that was exactly how he’d always expected Bjorn to sleep. It seemed arrogant, somehow, although he couldn’t for the life of him work out how the kid could make even _sleeping_ arrogant. Bjorn just really had a talent for it.

Lagertha and Ragnar had disappeared about an hour previously after Ragnar had rolled his eyes at the choice of film – The Hunger Games – and leaned over to whisper something into his wife’s ear. Since Lagertha had giggled like a schoolgirl and winked at him when he drew back, Athelstan had formed a conclusion about what they were up to and was doing his utmost not to think about it.

Just as something exploded on-screen, Athelstan heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs and then the sitting room door creaked open to reveal Ragnar’s grinning face. It softened at the sight of his sleeping children, and Athelstan offered up a rueful smile as if in apology for letting them fall asleep. His smile promptly faded and his cheeks reddened as Lagertha crept into the room behind her husband dressed only a shirt that clearly belonged to Ragnar, flashing more bare leg than Athelstan had seen since that one time Polly Johnson cornered him at a house party while drunk and got sixty per cent of her clothes off before her friends came over to save Athelstan.

“Bless them,” she whispered, and Athelstan shifted uncomfortably as she came closer and crouched down in front of the sofa, smoothing Gyda’s hair off her face. Trying desperately to look at anywhere except the smooth expanse of leg, Athelstan glanced wildly around and found Ragnar watching him with an expression that was both highly amused and vaguely predatory at the same time. Swallowing, Athelstan diverted himself by carefully sliding out from beneath Gyda and standing, brushing his hands down on his jeans and clearing his throat softly.

“Uh – do you want help putting them to bed?”

“That would be kind,” Lagertha replied, rising in one swift elegant movement, and stood aside for Athelstan to lever Gyda up into his arms gently. He suspected that she was probably plenty strong enough to carry her daughter herself, but for the moment was just extraordinarily glad he had the excuse to get out of the sudden tension in the air of the sitting room.

“Which way?” he murmured as he headed up the stairs, Gyda in his arms muttering something softly and sleepily and tucking her head into his neck.

“Left,” Ragnar muttered back from behind him, sounding a little puffed. Athelstan paused on the landing to look back and found Ragnar struggling up the stairs with Bjorn slung over his shoulder.

“He’s like the dead once he’s properly asleep,” the other man explained quietly as he passed Athelstan and headed for what must have been Bjorn’s room, “We were camping once and the tent fell in during a storm and we found him still fast asleep under it twenty minutes later.”

Athelstan supposed this explained why Bjorn was still snoring gently even as Ragnar accidentally bumped his head on the doorframe, and had to suppress a smile as he moved forward and pushed the door of Gyda’s room open with his foot. The bed, as Bjorn had avowed earlier, was a double one with duvets and blankets and pillows piled high. Athelstan laid Gyda down gently on it, and was just pulling her slippers off when he heard a mumbled mutter from the pillow.

“Athelstan,” she whispered, and he looked up and gave her a soft smile.

“Yeah?”

She watched him sleepily as he finished getting her left slipper off and gently tucked a blanket up around her, and gave him a quiet little smile once he was finished.

“Thank you. For coming tonight. It was nice.”

“Thank you for having me,” he replied equally quietly, and passed a hand softly over her hair before switching out the light and murmuring, “Sleep well,” as he left the room and shut the door. He had never spent much time around children, and he was really quite surprised at how much he liked it. He caught himself wondering then what it would have been like if his parents had lived and he’d had younger siblings to help look after – but that was only a despairing path of thought to head down, so he shook the thoughts away and looked down the hall to where Lagertha and Ragnar were coming out of Bjorn’s room, shutting the door gently behind themselves.

“Thank you so much for having me,” Athelstan said quietly, mindful of the sleeping children, “I’m sorry for staying so long, I’ll head back –”

“It’s still snowing,” Ragnar interrupted him, glancing briefly down at his wife before looking back up at Athelstan, “And you really can’t go back to a building with no heating. You’ll freeze to death before the morning, and what will we do without an instructor for Bjorn and Gyda?”

Athelstan glanced between them, once again feeling fairly confused, “I don’t…”

“Stay,” Lagertha broke in now, “Please, it would set our minds at rest. There are several guest rooms, you can take your pick.”

Athelstan hesitated. He desperately wanted to stay in the warmth, but the idea of taking advantage of their hospitality so blatantly chafed at everything he’d ever been taught.

“No, really,” he responded finally, stepping back, “I couldn’t possibly –”

“We insist,” Ragnar said firmly, moving instantly to close the gap again, “You can’t get away.”

Athelstan’s eyes once more flew between the teasing expression on Ragnar’s face and Lagertha’s friendly smile, and decided for once that he would give in to temptation and intrude for a few hours longer.

“Well, if you really don’t mind, that would be amazing. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I can think of a way,” Ragnar murmured softly, and he turned around to cast a glance that Athelstan wasn’t very comfortable about at Lagertha. She returned it ferally, and Athelstan swallowed hard and wondered whether there was something going on here he wasn’t picking up on. God, maybe they were axe-murderers or something… They didn’t really seem the type, though.

“This way,” Lagertha said, and turned down the corridor again. Athelstan, making sure to keep his eyes on the glint of her blonde hair and not her legs, cautiously slid past Ragnar and followed her quietly. He could feel Ragnar pacing behind him, a little too close for comfort, and was extremely grateful when Lagertha stopped and pushed a door open, gesturing him in.

“There are some of Ragnar’s pyjamas in the wardrobe,” she informed him lightly, indicating a big wooden affair in the corner. Athelstan was so taken aback by the luxury of the room that he barely heard, but managed to nod and get out a “thank you” as he sank down to sit on the edge of the huge bed. Maybe he’d died and gone to heaven on the cold walk over here.

The bed sank abruptly next to him, and Athelstan started as he felt an arm sling around his shoulders. The next moment he had decided that um, yup, okay, he had _definitely_ died on the way over here but gone to hell with all the sinners and tempters because that was the only possible explanation for the fact that Ragnar was leaning into him and whispered in the lowest of tones into his ear.

“You know,” he heard as if through a waterfall, blood pounding in his ears, “You could always stay in our bed, if you liked. We promise to be gentle.”

Athelstan’s gaze flew between them liked a hunted deer, and he just _knew_ he was redder than he’d ever been in his entire life. His instant assumption had been that they were joking, but Ragnar’s face was deadly serious when he turned to look at it, and then Lagertha was lifting the shirt higher, revealing a pair of red lacy knickers and –

“Um,” he squeaked out in probably the least manliest tone he’d ever used, “Wow, um, thanks, that’s so, uh, wow, nice of you. I’m so flattered, but I – whoa, okay, uh, I sort of… I’m from a really religious background and it’s – I don’t believe in sex outside of marriage. It’s – it’s a sin, for me.”

He felt the heat of Ragnar’s body draw back and away, and watched confusion flicker across Lagertha’s face. They probably thought he was making it up to mock them, somehow, but surely his embarrassment and discomfort was enough to make them see it was the truth.

Abruptly Ragnar’s warm weight was back, and that voice was in his ear again, the devil himself with the weight of temptation, “Well, God doesn’t have to know.”

“But he would,” Athelstan found himself whispering back. He didn’t know what he was more ashamed of – having to be involved in this conversation, or the fact that he was, against all odds, feeling a rising desire to just say _yes_. To surrender to these wild, kind people with the glorious golden good looks.

“Well,” Lagertha said a few stiff moments later, and Ragnar suddenly laughed and slapped Athelstan on the shoulder, all geniality again.

“You know, I had you pegged as an atheist from the way Gyda described you.”

“Gyda?” Athelstan inquired in bewilderment, wondering how on earth the child had cropped up in the middle of this conversation. Ragnar laughed again, and Lagertha joined in now, moving closer to wag a teasingly stern finger in Athelstan’s face.

“You had better not be refusing us because you have designs on our daughter, Englishman.”

Athelstan’s eyes were wide again, his brain honestly exhausted from having to deal with so much confusion in a single evening.

“Designs on – I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”

Ragnar rose to his feet, still chuckling, and wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist as they both stared down at Athelstan, grinning broadly.

“Our daughter,” he confided, “Is a little enamoured of you.”

“She – what?” Athelstan replied, horrified to feel his cheeks flaming red again. Of _course_ , he thought, that would explain a lot. But Gyda? A crush on him? She was a child, she was – “She’s _ten_ ,” he found himself saying finally. This did nothing but prompt another ripple of laughter from the couple in front of him.

“Old enough to grow affection, I assure you,” Lagertha told him firmly. Athelstan took a very deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, honestly not really sure what the hell he was supposed to do now.

“Well,” Ragnar said after another short pause, looking down at his wife, “We will leave you. But, you know, if you change your mind, we’re just down the hall…”

And with that, he swung Lagertha around and tugged her from the room, the pair of them giggling like schoolchildren. Athelstan listened to their hasty steps disappear down the hallway and a door somewhere bang shut, and hastily got up to shut his own door. Shaking slightly, utterly drained, he decided to make use of the lock on the door. Feeling like his virtue was marginally more secure, he took control for long enough to unearth the promised pair of pyjamas in the cupboard and slide into them, and at last clambered into the gloriously comfortable bed.

The only thing he had time to think before he gave into the tempting oblivion of sleep was, “ _How the hell am I going to look any of them in the eye in the morning_?” The irony of the whole thing was that Bjorn was now the only member of the entire family he would feel comfortable having a conversation with.

This was not turning out to be even remotely close to the stress-free ski season he had intended.


End file.
